A journey of no sound

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Peter

Peter McNally tells us about the fear and anxiety he felt growing up with a stammer. But meeting someone else who stammered for the first time made him realise he wasn't alone.

I was born in a slate mining town in North Wales. My father was from Ireland and my mother was from Wales, and the language that was mainly spoken in the town was Welsh.

As a child, I was filled with aspirations and curiosity, but there was always one thing that set me apart from my peers: I stammered. My words were often trapped in my throat and sentences slipped away like sand through my fingers. It began in early childhood and as I grew, I became acutely aware of the curious glances and gentle nudges of impatience from those around me. This also included mimicking. I was and felt different, which I didn't want to be.

My first, and most distressing, memory of it was at primary school when I found out that my break-time banana had been stolen by someone in my class. I couldn't say or do anything but cry and cry. I was in shock and my voice was blocked. I just couldn't be consoled so they sent me home for the day. This incident has remained with me all of my life and is crystal clear in my mind's eye.

 I was and felt different, which I didn't want to be.

When I reached secondary school, my disfluency became more evident. The most dire situation was when we had Welsh poetry recital. The teacher would give us a poem that we had to learn and recite in class the following week. This was a harrowing and stressful experience every time. The teacher went up and down the rows of desks, asking each of us to stand up and recite part of the poem. When it was my turn I was lucky to get a word or two out. As I struggled, the teacher would tell me to sit down and went to the next child instead.

This went on for months until the teacher had a 'lightbulb' moment. She decided that from then on, when it came to my turn to recite the poem she would totally skip me! This made me feel even worse, like I was a 'non person'. Since that ordeal, I seemed to stammer more in Welsh than in English.

Paranoia

As a family, we lived above a pub which my father ran. Buying from the brewery was expensive, so he devised a way of increasing profits by buying bottles of spirits directly from local shops. It was my job to not only collect the bottles but order items by phone too. But speaking on the phone was difficult and I simply couldn't do it. This didn't go down well with my father. It left me in a state of paranoia about using the phone, which didn't leave my life until my late thirties. To this day I prefer emailing or texting even though I only stammer when I'm a bit stressed.

Anyway, at 15 or so I started seeing a speech therapist. I'm not sure to this day who referred me. I remember my first appointment, which was at the same place as the dentist's, which I hated. I sat in the therapist's small office, surrounded by bare walls. She asked me to speak and when I did, she said it was clear to her that I was breathing the wrong way! The therapist told me that I seemed to be constricting the amount of air I had in my lungs. She then taught me to breathe in, pushing my tummy out. Remembering to do it was difficult.

I was so relieved and upbeat after meeting him. Here was someone who spoke like me.

I was quite surprised and also perplexed when the therapist told me that I had a stammer. I felt a strange mix of relief and anxiety; now I had a name for my struggle, but I also feared the label that would follow me. Would I always be the child who stammered? I hadn't heard of it before and didn't know anyone else who stammered.

A fifty-five year-old friendship

As my time at secondary school was coming to an end, my art teacher suggested I did a Workers Education course after school, which was taught by a sculptor. I thought I'd try it. To my utter surprise and amazement the teacher stammered! He had two of his local friends helping him in case, I guess, he couldn't articulate the right words to get out of his mouth.

• Meet others who stammer — see our list of UK stammering groups

I was so relieved and upbeat after meeting him. Here was someone who spoke like me. I still see the sculptor to this day, a fifty-five year-old friendship. Whenever we meet up, quite weirdly if I stumble on a word it usually makes him stammer, which in turn makes me stammer more. 

I still avoid certain words or letters that make me stammer, or sometimes I simply avoid talking altogether. However, it has one particularly interesting side effect in that it makes me more careful about what I'm saying. I avoid saying things to others which could be misunderstood or they wouldn’t find funny! It’s a saving grace.

Read more Your Voice articles. 

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